From the Past into the Future or The Cave - in Affair
by alynwa
Summary: Cowritten with Spikesgirl58, Illya travels to the South Pole in 1967 to carry out Mr. Waverly's orders. In the present, he is on a mission of a personal nature. I wrote the 1967 story and Spikesgirl58 wrote the present day story. This was a lot of fun to do. NOTE: RATED PG-13 FOR PRE-SLASH.
1. Chapter 1

_1967_

"Gentlemen, gentlemen! One at a time. Please!" Mr. Waverly clenched his unlit pipe tighter as he stood at the podium of the UN General Assembly. The room was more crowded than usual. Along with the normal complement of ambassadors and their assistants, there was a large UNCLE delegation; the Number Ones of Europe, South America, Africa, Asia and Australia along with the Number Ones of Section II and their partners were all seated behind the podium. Section IIIs were scattered around the room to provide extra security for their superiors.

"Mr. Waverly!" the ambassador from the USSR growled into his microphone, "Are we to understand that UNCLE is to maintain control of any and all weaponry it manages to acquire from THRUSH?"

"As we have since UNCLE's inception fifteen years ago. When my colleagues and I formed the United Network Command for Law and Enforcement, we met with the leaders of the so – called superpowers and made the argument, with which they agreed, that technology such as THRUSH attempts to develop is just too dangerous to give to any one country or to spread the knowledge amongst them."

The US ambassador chimed in, "That was all well and good fifteen years ago, Sir, but two weeks ago, all regular television programming was interrupted so that we could all be threatened by a madman with an 'earthquake machine!'"

"Well, yes, nasty business, that. But as you know, my agents were successful in destroying it."

"Which is why we were able to tell the American people that it was an elaborate hoax perpetrated by extremely intelligent college students residing 'overseas.' And what about Dr. Killman's notes on the weapon? Were they also destroyed?"

Mr. Waverly turned to the men sitting behind him. "Mr. Kuryakin, would you be so kind as to answer Ambassador Jackson's question?"

Illya flicked a quick glance to his partner before rising. "Of course, Sir," he said as he went to stand beside the Old Man. "All of the doctor's materials, notes included, were collected by an UNCLE cleanup team and reviewed by Section VIII. They are now locked away in UNCLE's safekeeping."

"Locked away where?"

"That is classified information, Ambassador Jackson."

Ambassador Nureyev pounded the table in front of him and shouted in Russian, "You forget yourself, Comrade Kuryakin! You are KGB! You are _obligated_ to disclose to the Premier that which he wants to know! I will see you in Siberia!"

When the ambassador began to yell, Napoleon had stood and moved behind Illya and translated as best he could for Mr. Waverly's benefit. He noted that the blond had paled ever so slightly and he placed his hand on Illya's back to steady him. Mr. Waverly returned to the microphone and replied icily, " _Agent_ Kuryakin is under no obligation to report to the Premier. While it is true that he came to this organization from the KGB, he is KGB no longer. _That_ was the agreement made personally between then Premier Khrushchev and myself. If you wish to challenge the agreement, discuss it with Mr. Brezhnev." He watched in satisfaction as the Russian ambassador backed down off his high horse and quieted. "The world leaders of fifteen years ago were very wise. They realized that if UNCLE were to hand over certain materials to certain countries, the temptation to use such weapons of mass destruction might prove to be too much."

"The USSR and the US were on the brink of war over the Cuban Missile Crisis. Imagine if one or both countries had a weapon like the earthquake machine. There is not a person in this room who could guarantee neither country wouldn't have used it. It is precisely because neither country _had_ it to use that the situation was resolved without military intervention. THRUSH Central hijacking the airwaves to make those threats pulled back the curtain slightly to reveal a world we would rather the average man knew nothing about and though my colleagues and I do appreciate all the tap dancing your governments had to do to convince the masses they were not endangered, that is no reason to revisit the weapons agreement made with the UNCLE. We will not amend the agreement in anyway. If there is nothing else, I and the rest of the UNCLE personnel here will take our leave."

Two hours later, the heads of Sections I and II were sitting in Mr. Waverly's office discussing the outcome of their meeting with the UN General Assembly. "I have to admit, Mr. Waverly," Napoleon Solo opined, "when you declared that we were leaving, I was more than a little concerned about our security. I thought the American ambassador was going to demand that we be detained."

Mr. Magubane, Section I of Africa, laughed aloud and added, "I am sure that option was probably discussed before we even arrived, but no country wishes to be the first to challenge or break ties with the UNCLE. Besides, those in attendance are politicians, not warriors and we in Section I have stressed for years that our agents are even more highly trained than any individual country's intelligence departments."

Mr. Waverly stuck his pipe in his mouth and searched his pockets for matches. Finding none, he removed the pipe and placed it in his ashtray. "Yes, well, be that as it may, today's little contretemps underscores a growing concern of mine: The world is changing and sadly, I think it is marching away from the idea of a multinational law enforcement agency such as ours."

"The politicians of the world are becoming less interested in a global community and more interested in advancing the agendas of their own countries. The reason I wanted the CEAs here is because, theoretically, you will be our successors so you need to hear this: During our last Summit meeting, Section I reached the conclusion that UNCLE will be obsolete in no more than forty years." He waited a few moments as the CEAs gasped in shock before continuing. "That means that those in charge will have very difficult decisions to make regarding what will become of our staff, our facilities and our legacy. We decided that we will remove one burden from the future leaders' shoulders: Each HQ will send three members of Section VIII to our warehouse in Antarctica. Their mission will be to destroy the cache of weaponry kept there." The other Section I Number Ones nodded in agreement at his words. "Mr. Solo, please advise Mr. Kuryakin that I want him to head up the contingent from UNCLE North America."

"Of course, Sir. May I ask, I thought the scientists assigned to that facility were working on ways to modify some of the weapons to benefit mankind? Sort of like beating swords into plowshares, so to speak."

"You are correct, Mr. Solo; however, we've decided that even if successful, the scientists of individual countries might be able to reverse engineer that process and we simply cannot take the chance of that happening. Also, technology is making exploration easier and the possibility of a government discovering the location of our weapons warehouse becomes less remote every day, so once the weapons are destroyed, the building will be dismantled and the site abandoned, as well."

Sir Frederick Pennington, Number One of Australia, said, "In future, each HQ will be responsible for destroying whatever weapons their agents find."

"Ah yes, my partner and I nullified the thermal prism we discovered during 'The Prince of Darkness Affair.'"

"As everyone will be doing from now on. Mr. Solo," Mr. Waverly said, "I've changed my mind. Let's leave the others here to discuss who they will be sending to Antarctica while you and I go inform your partner of his next assignment. Gentlemen, take your time; I will be back soon." He stood and walked out with his Chief Enforcement Agent. As they rode in the elevator he looked at Napoleon and observed, "You've been rather quiet since we left my office. What are you thinking?"

Napoleon sighed and jammed his hands into his pockets. "It's a little disconcerting to hear talk about UNCLE's demise, but I agree with Section I about the arms technology we come across. It is much too dangerous to hand over to individual governments. That agreement must never be amended, no matter what the UN or _anyone_ says."

"It's nice to know you agree with Section I's line of thinking, Mr. Solo. You have five more years' active field duty. I would appreciate it immensely if you didn't get yourself killed so that you can take my seat when I retire and I can be assured of the continuity of my plans."

"I'll try my best, Sir."


	2. Chapter 2

_Present Day_

At three, I had brain fever or something like that. For a week, I was in a near coma. It was almost always fatal, but I pulled through without any effects. The doctors couldn't explain it and I ended up in many medical journals.

At seven, there was an accident and I was left in a coma from which the doctors said I would never awaken. Yet I did. I sat up and asked my mum for a drink of water. She passed out. There were, again, no side effects with the exception of a scar running along the side of my face at my temple. I thought it made me look like the Frankenstein monster and embraced that image for several Halloweens to come. Another mess of medical journal write ups followed.

At nine, I was hit by lightning and then again at eleven. The doctors said that for someone to live through that once was a miracle, but twice? Hello, Medical Journals, my old friends.

Now, when something like this happens to a guy, there are but three possible outcomes. Either you lock yourself in your room, terrified at what might happen next. You get really religious or, as it was in my case, you figure that you were pretty much invincible.

That way of thinking, my stupid period, nearly got me killed again, but, hey, I'm a guy. Forty – eight stitches and a few months in a body cast later, I realized there was a thin line between being lucky and stupid. It tempered my attitude and made me realize that life, especially mine, would be very short if I wasn't careful.

So, I settled down and somehow managed to get into a decent enough college. I majored in business and discovered I had a nature acuity for making money. Case in point – my business. Somewhere along the way, I discovered a love of spelunking. That's caving, to some folks. That's when you head down into a cave and negotiate the various obstacles. It's not for the claustrophobic or anyone afraid of the dark. It's scary, hard, and the best time you could have fully dressed. At least it is in my opinion.

I started organizing weekend trips for my friends and colleagues. Then there were friends of friends and then total strangers coming along. Without realizing it, I started a business and by the end of its first year, I was making enough to keep me solvent. I started organizing trips around the state, then the country. That's when the serious money started coming in.

I suddenly woke up one morning and realized that I hadn't been in a cave for a year. All I was doing was sitting at my desk making business decisions, returning phone calls and signing checks. My business had become so successful that it had eclipsed me and left me in its wake.

I hated it and yet at the same time, I loved it. Seriously, what person doesn't like making money? Still, I started cutting back at my time in the office, leading one or two tours every now and again, promising an exciting and unique experience. It was a very successful move and I had to take on two more employees just to handle the new business.

I was studying catalogs and travel brochures to narrow down my next tour when there was a knock at my door. It was my office manager and my best decision to date.

"Hey, JD, there's a guy here who needs to talk to you."

"Do I owe him money?"

She grinned. "I don't think so."

"Is he a lawyer?"

"Doesn't have the smell about him." You have to understand that we weren't terribly fond of lawyers in my line of work. "There's just something… I think you need to talk to him."

I sighed and pushed stuff aside. I'd long since learned to listen to Sharon to the point where people thought we were married. "Then send him in."

After a moment, a little old man entered. Well, maybe that's not fair of me. I am well over six feet and he must have been about five seven or so. He was probably in his late sixties to my thirties, but there was a way that he moved that told me he was still in pretty good shape. I stood and offered my hand.

"Hi, I'm JD. What can I do for you?" He stared at me for a moment as if he were trying to make a decision. Then he took my hand and gave it a firm shake. I was right, still in good shape.

"Mr. Dawson, I need a caver, a good one, and it needs to be someone I can trust." He sat in a chair, but on the edge, as if he might be called upon to make a sudden escape. That wasn't lost on me.

"Well, we have a good safety record and I've never had anyone lost or permanently injured."

"I know. I've read all about you and your company." He locked eyes with me and I suddenly knew what Sharon meant. There was something about this guy. "I need the best and I believe that is you." He seemed to have come to some sort of decision. "What do you know about UNCLE?"

"The defunct spy ring thing from the 70's? Not much." Wow! The look in that guy's eyes chilled me to the bone. Whatever I said touched a nerve. "I… ah… didn't mean to offend you."

The frost warmed slightly. "I am-," he paused as if looking for the right word. "It is a delicate subject for me."

"I can tell."

"I need to get inside UNCLE's New York headquarters."

"How? No one even knows where it is anymore." It wasn't every day that you learned there had been a super duper spy organization operating right beneath our noses. I don't really know what happened, something big did and suddenly it was all over. Decades of helping to keep us safe was gone just like that. It had been sad in a way.

The old guy's head bowed and there was a long pause. I was sort of worried that he'd fallen asleep or, worse, died. I didn't think I'd have to put that in a brochure or anything, though. Then his head came back up.

"I do."

I laughed. "Sure you do. Folks have been looking for it for years. Besides, we'd never get in. From what I remember hearing tell, all the entrances were filled with concrete when it closed shop to keep the bad guys out."

"Not all of them, Mr. Dawson."

I stopped laughing then. "What? What do you mean not all of them?"

"There is one. It was the entrance used by the Chief to come and go from the building without incident. It was only known to three people. Two of them are dead."

"What about the last one."

"I'm married to him." The old man stood and I swear he became twenty years younger in that instant. "My name is Illya Kuryakin and I am an UNCLE agent."


	3. Chapter 3

_1967_

Illya and the other two members of his team, Valerie Lewis and Charles Foster, stood together in the Reception area of the UNCLE storage facility located in the virtual center of Antarctica. They had met up with the four other teams representing the other headquarters in Ushuaia, Chile where they embarked on the UNCLE freighter for the two day sail to the White Continent. They were met by a welcoming party in two old US Army issue halftracks for the almost five hour drive from the coast. _And that was after forty – six hours of flights and layovers,_ Illya thought as he removed his outerwear. Picking up his suitcase again, he nodded at the man who had greeted them upon their arrival and introduced himself as Doctor David Conroy, the lead researcher and manager of the facility.

"If you could direct us to our living quarters, Dr. Conroy, to put our things away, we can get started immediately," he said. He could sense the people behind him groaning inwardly.

"Agent Kuryakin, I do realize you are eager to carry out the wishes of Section I, but even though the sun is high in the sky, it's after ten PM. My staff is tired and frankly, so am I. I don't know the last time you or your fellow scientists ate or slept, but I don't think our bosses will mind if we all start fresh in the morning."

Dr. Kim Lee Young of UNCLE Asia chimed in, "Please, Mr. Kuryakin, I feel like my team and I have been traveling for _months!_ I don't sleep well on planes and the ship's crossing was quite rough."

The Russian nodded his understanding. "Alright, we'll start in the morning." Truth be told, he was exhausted. The water _had_ been quite rough and he had spent the better part of the last two days feeling queasy and out of sorts. The only reason he had thought of starting at once was so that he could get back to Napoleon that much sooner. He looked behind him at his fourteen traveling companions and knew he was making the correct decision.

"Excellent! Tom Higgins here will show you to the visitors' quarters. He's my second in command and can answer any questions you have. I'll take my leave and see you in the morning. Tom will show you the Cafeteria on the way. Breakfast is served between six and nine AM. Goodnight." Doctor Conroy smiled and left.

"Okay, people," Tom said, "Let's get you folks ready for bed. Follow me, please." He led them down a long hallway while pointing out the cafeteria and the stairs and elevators that led to the underground storage portion of the facility. "This is the women's dorm," he announced as he held the door open for Dr. Young, Dr. Lewis and Dr. Denise Fields from UNCLE Europe. "The bathroom is at the opposite end of the room. Goodnight, ladies."

"Goodnight," they called in unison.

The eleven males followed Higgins past two more doors. This time, he opened the door and held it for the first man and then walked through. When they were all inside, he said, "Make yourselves at home, guys. We made up the beds today; the sheets are clean. If you don't like where you are, just make up another one. There's eleven of you and twenty – four beds. Doctor Kuryakin, we were told that you are the lead scientist, so we put you at the far end to give you some semblance of privacy."

"Thank you and please, call me Illya." They spent the next few minutes making introductions and renewing acquaintances before Tom left and everyone started preparing for bed. Illya grabbed his toiletry bag and headed to the bathroom. The showers were communal, as were the urinals, but there were actual water closets instead of stalls, which pleased him greatly. He entered one and pulled his communicator. "Open Channel S, overseas relay, scrambled."

"Illya! I was starting to think you had forgotten about me."

"Never, Napoleon. This is the most privacy I've had since we left New York. It is almost eleven – thirty here, so it is almost ten – thirty there, correct?"

"It is indeed." Napoleon was silent for a few moments. "I miss you, Tovarisch. More than you know. I've, ah, I've been sleeping in the guest room since you left."

Illya snorted softly. "That explains a lot," he said, "Blockhead, you were supposed to sleep in your, excuse me, _our_ bed. I left something in it for you."

"What? Hold on, let me go in there." Illya could hear Napoleon's footfalls in the hallway until the bedroom carpet muffled the sound. He imagined his partner yanking back the bedding. "What the…? I can't believe you left this thing on your side of the bed!"

The Russian deadpanned, "I could not believe you won that little Teddy bear playing Skee – ball at Coney Island and gave it to me! I did not think I was the Teddy bear type. I admit, however, that it began to grow on me. I think of him as Sergei now. I slept with him under me so he would pick up my scent. Sergei will keep you company while I am gone." He could hear gentle laughter coming through the device.

"I think being at the bottom of the world has made you sentimental. I _like_ it."

"What I will like is destroying the weaponry. The sooner that is done, the sooner I can come home. Until then, keep Sergei in the bed and remember I love you whenever you look at him."

Napoleon's voice was gruff with emotion when he replied, "I will. Love you, too. Get some rest. Goodnight."


	4. Chapter 4

_1967_

Six AM the next morning found Illya sitting alone at a table in the cafeteria. A few of his teammates were eating breakfast at a table in the middle of the room, but habits that keep you alive die hard and the Russian sat where he could watch the doorways and his back was against the wall. He had noticed them watching him after he had gotten his food and only nodded "Good morning" as he passed their table. He didn't really care if they thought he was acting like a distant Ice Prince by not sitting with them. He was the only Section II in the contingent, ( _the only Section II on the continent,_ he thought in amusement) and he knew the main reason Mr. Waverly had selected him was because he would enforce Section I's decision if the need arose.

The door on the right opened and the female scientists entered, led by Valerie Lewis. She saw him and waved hello before turning back to get a tray and order bacon and eggs. She got her food, said something to her companions and then walked over to join him.

"Good morning," she said as she sat, "I'm assuming you're sitting here to protect your back?" She answered his small smile with a smile. "I thought so. I told Denise and Kim that and that I was going to sit with you. Look, they're telling the gang what I said."

He turned his gaze to the table to see thirteen pairs of eyes trained their way while at least four of them exclaimed, "Ohhhhhhhh, okay" in complete understanding. He waved at them and received waves, smiles and raised coffee cups in return. "Thank you, Valerie."

Her brow furrowed in confusion. "For what?"

"It did not occur to me to simply _tell_ them why I chose to sit here. I am used to UNCLE personnel who are used to Section IIs. I am the only Section II who is also a scientist. Only you and Charles had met me before and _he_ is fairly new to the organization. So, thank you."

"You're more than welcome, Illya." They ate in silence as they concentrated on their food, the best they had eaten since leaving New York. Valerie swallowed the last of hers and drank some coffee. "I'm ready to get started. How do you propose we do this?"

"Come, let's join the others." He stood and helped out of her chair. "Ladies and gentlemen, it's six – thirty now. Please meet me in Room Five in fifteen minutes so we can discuss strategy. Agreed?" He was pleased to hear them all agree and he and Valerie left together.

The room Illya had chosen for the meeting had been suggested by Dr. Conroy. He was already there when he and Valerie entered. "Good morning!" he said as he rose to greet them, "I trust you slept and ate well?"

"I did; we both did, I think," Illya answered, "The rest of the team will be here in a few minutes. What are your thoughts about how to proceed?"

"The warehouse is divided into six sections: Nuclear weaponry, Biochemical weaponry, Laser weaponry, Artificial Intelligence, devices that control the weather and/or the environment and finally, the files where the notes and blueprints for all the weaponry are kept. I suggest that one team is assigned to each section with Tom and me operating as the sixth team. We should be able to disassemble and destroy the cache in less than three weeks' time."

"I agree. As the lead, I will float among all six teams to make sure all is well and as it should be. How many of your staff are still here?"

"The bulk of the scientists were from UNCLE South America and Australia. Most of them are already gone; it was hard for some of them to see their efforts to create peacetime uses for these weapons destroyed so it was thought best to reassign them now. It's only Tom, me and the support staff here."

During their discussion, Tom and the other scientists had been coming into the room. After everyone got settled, Illya related what Dr. Conroy had suggested. "Does anyone have an objection or a better suggestion to accomplish our goal?" No one raised a hand. "Good. Team South America, you will handle AI; Africa, you will take Laser weapons; Doctor Conroy and Tom, you will destroy the files; Team Australia, weather and environmental; Team Europe, you have the nuclear bombs which means that North America will tackle the biochemical weapons. As I said earlier, I will spend time with each team every day to check your progress. Any questions?"

Doctor John Smith of Australia raised his hand. "How do you want us to keep track of what we're doing?"

Before Illya could answer, Valerie spoke up, "Smitty, I suggest that each team designate one person as the recorder. That person will write up each weapon destroyed and hand in that paperwork to Illya at the end of each day. How does that sound?"

The Russian smiled. "That sounds reasonable. I must report our progress to Mr. Waverly daily." He glanced at his watch. "It is seven – fifteen now. Let us get started. Please remember: Each weapon is to be dismantled piece by piece and every piece is to be destroyed by crushing or melting. All radioactive and or nuclear waste is to be placed in the glass containers provided for deep burial under the lowest level of this facility. I know this goes without saying, but I will say it anyway: Be careful. We do not need nuclear incidents or anyone getting hurt." He stood. "We will break for lunch at eleven – thirty."

Illya was very proud of the way the teams had been working for the past week and a half. They had quickly settled into a routine: Breakfast between six and seven, off to their respective areas by seven fifteen, lunch starting at eleven thirty, back to work by twelve forty – five. They would work straight through to five PM, eat dinner and then work until nine. Illya was given progress reports from each team three times a day and he reported to Mr. Waverly at ten PM.

It was eleven PM Tuesday night and Illya was finding it difficult to get to sleep. He flung the covers off, put on jeans and slippers and quietly moved past his bunkmates after grabbing his communicator. He left the dorm and headed to the cafeteria to get tea. He was surprised to see Valerie there reading. "I thought I was the only one having trouble sleeping." He noticed she was drinking a cup of tea. "That is what I came for," he said as he went to the hot water urn.

"I'm usually up late reading and I come in here so I don't disturb the others," she said conversationally, "Care to join me?"

"Sure."

He sat and they sipped their tea in a comfortable silence. She looked at him and smiled just as he glanced at her. "May I ask you a personal question?"

"I reserve the right not to answer, but you may ask your question."

She finished her tea and then closed her book. Now that she could ask, she wondered if she _should_ ask. She saw that he was watching her, eyebrows raised, waiting for her to say something. _Well, in for a penny…_ "When I first met you, I thought you might be interested in me. When I transferred to HQ, Napoleon took me sightseeing, which was fun, but I was hoping you would ask me on a date and you never did. Was I wrong? Did I misread you?"

Illya considered lying to her, but he did like her as a person and felt she deserved to know she hadn't been mistaken. "I do like you, Valerie, and when I first met you, I admit, I was a bit infatuated. It is just that, I have since met someone with whom…I connect."

"Oh." Her brows furrowed as she tried to reconcile what she just heard with what she already knew. _He doesn't date any of the girls or women in HQ, the grapevine would know if he did. Wait a minute; lately the grapevine's been pretty quiet regarding Napoleon, too._ She leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms. _That can't be true,_ she thought. But the more she thought about it, the more sense it made. _When you factor out everything else, what's left, no matter how improbable, is true._ "You're with Napoleon," she stated. The quickly hidden look of surprise told her she was right. "My entire family used to tease my Uncle Sammy about 'Aunt' Leonard. We loved both of them to pieces, but I know everyone's not like my family. I won't tell anyone, Illya. I promise."

"Thank you, Valerie. I…I do not feel comfortable speaking about it…"

"It's fine," she said as she took his hand in both of hers, "We don't have to. I'm happy that you and Napoleon have each other. I'll see you in the morning." She smiled at him as she let go of his hand and stood. "Sleep well."

The Russian sat there drinking his tea. After about ten minutes, he pulled his communicator from his pocket. "Open Channel S, overseas relay, scrambled."

A sleepy voice came through the device. "Hi. Sergei and I had just decided you weren't going to call."

"Valerie Lewis knows about us."

" _What!_ Are you okay? Why did you tell her?"

"I did not tell her; she intuited it. She could probably move to Section II, her instincts are good. There is no problem. There are homosexuals in her family that she loves and she promised she will not say anything."

"Good. When are you coming home?"

"Soon. I think we will be finished by Friday the latest. I have already spoken to the South American Headquarters and the ship will be here Friday afternoon for us to set sail Saturday morning. Then, it is just another two days' sail plus fifty hours of flying and layovers." He could hear Napoleon's loud, frustrated groan.

"Well, tell everyone to step on the gas. Sergei is starting to look really good to me."

Illya snorted, "If I come home and see Sergei looking quite shocked, I will know why. Good night, Napoleon."


	5. Chapter 5

_Present Day_

"You are kidding me!"

"Are you crazy?"

"What?"

All these phrases popped into my mind at the same time as I listened to Kuryakin talk. It was insane, it was out of the question and it was the most exciting thing I'd ever heard. What I said was, "Wait, you said him?"

"Yes, is that a problem?" The way those blue eyes narrowed I knew he'd faced this sort of situation before and had a negative outcome.

"Nope, just making sure I heard you correctly. It could be awkward if I didn't." I grabbed a piece of paper and started making a notation, jumping when a hand the size of Mount Rushmore covered mine.

"Nothing is to be written down."

"But, then how…?"

"You will have to trust me as I will have to trust you."

I didn't like that, not at all. "Hey, everything is above the board here."

"As it should be, but this is… a delicate matter. If the wrong people found out, it could end very badly for both of us." I heard the buzzing of a pager and he glanced down at it, frowning. "Excuse me, do you have a phone I could use?"

"Sure." I directed him to my partner's office and watched as a line lit up. Part of me wanted to pick up the phone, but I knew that would not be ethically or morally cool. Besides, if this guy was really who he said he was, it might also be deadly.

I got out a standard form and wrote "Joe Blow" on the name line. That was enough for me. I made up a mess of other stuff, just to keep the lines from being empty and drawing attention. If any of this triggered a response from Sharon, I would lie or something.

A few minutes passed and Kuryakin returned. He looked so sad, so worried that any reservations I had flew out the window. Without saying anything, I turned the sheet towards him and let him read what I had written.

"Okay?"

"Yes." There was just the hint of a smile at one corner of his mouth at my creativity and he signed it with an appropriate name. I had the feeling it wasn't the first time he'd done that. "Do you require a deposit?"

"Ten percent is the normal asking price."

He took out a billfold and peeled four crisp hundred dollar bills off the top. "That sounds fair."

"That's too much."

"Consider it a token of my trust." He looked around at my closet-size office and at the bustling people just outside. "Is there some place we can go to talk? Some place more private?"

Privacy seemed really important to this guy and I wanted to reassure him that I was willing to make an effort. Fifteen minutes later, I was unlocking the door to my apartment.

"Sorry about the mess. It's the hazard of living alone and not being here most of the time." I dragged a pile of clean laundry off the couch and dumped it on the bed. Unless the magic folding fairies came by, it would be there waiting for me later.

Kuryakin roamed the room as if he was searching for something. He caught me watching him and smiled sheepishly. "Sorry. Old habits die hard."

I grinned back to let him know everything was fine and gestured to the now-settable couch. "So you said there is an entrance."

He sat and stared at the back of his hands. "There is, but I have no idea what condition the cave might be in. It had been several decades since it was used." His expression grew soft. "It was designed so that Mr. Waverly, our Section One head could come and go without being detected. In all the years of operation, it was the only entrance THRUSH was not able to ascertain its location. When Napoleon was fingered to succeed Mr. Waverly, he was shown the entrance and permitted to navigate it."

"And he told you."

"Not until many years later." There was a heavy sigh and a long silence. "When everything went south, so did we. We went undercover so deep that not even our fellow agents could find us."

"What changed?"

"Life seems to have forced our hand and us to resurface, something no one else could have done." Kuryakin looked at me and I felt as if my soul was being filleted and served on a platter. "I need to get back into HQ. There is something I need to retrieve."

"Something dangerous?"

Again that tiny smile. "Something sentimental. Something that no one would have noticed in the rush of securing more proprietary documents. And something upon which our entire existence now hangs. Can you do it?"

"Haven't met a cave yet that could beat me and I'm intrigued at the thought of there being one in New York that I don't know about."

"You are intrigued now. Wait until you learn where the entrance is." He stood. "I will meet you here at four a.m. tomorrow morning."

"That soon? I mean, don't we need maps and such?"

He tapped his forehead. "All you need is me."

And deep in my soul of souls, I had a feeling that wasn't going to be nearly enough.


	6. Chapter 6

_1967_

Thursday morning, Valerie ate breakfast with Illya and the rest of the teams before heading back to the women's dorm to retrieve her notepad. She had forgotten to bring it with her and since she was her team's recorder, it was imperative that she had it. As she picked it up from her cot, she smiled as she thought about her coworkers.

After that first breakfast, more and more scientists gravitated towards Illya until all fourteen members were sitting at the table with Illya or the table next to him. He was baffled in the beginning, but she had told him that they liked him. "Yes, Illya," she had explained, "Most of them thought of Section IIs as robots that are just smart enough to follow Section I's orders. You've impressed them with your intelligence and insight and once they understood why you sit here, they decided to join you. Now, give me a dollar for saying nice things about you!" She had burst out laughing at the confused look on his face. _He just shook his head when I told him it was a joke. I'm glad he's happy with Napoleon, but I wish I had gotten a date…_

A sound from behind the door of the room next to the dorm stopped her in the hallway. _Weird, Tom said this is a janitor's closet. Who could be in here? I left the team in the Cafeteria, the support staff is getting the office furniture ready for transport and Tom and David should be downstairs in the warehouse._ When she heard something slide on the floor, she walked over and opened the door quickly. "Oh, it's you!"

"Jeez Louise!" Tom shouted as he whipped around to face the door. Clutching his chest, he gasped out, "Valerie! You scared the crap out of me! What are you doing here?"

"Finding out who's in the janitor's closet! What are _you_ doing here?"

"David and I were shredding files and he knocked over his coffee. I came up here to get paper towels to sop it up."

"Oh okay, but why didn't you just get towels out of the bathrooms down there?" She glanced past his shoulder and her eyes widened. "Those are UNCLE files! You're stealing files!" She turned to flee, but he was on her before she could reach the door. He began to choke her.

"I'm sorry, Valerie, I really like you, but I'm getting paid a lot of money to take these out of here and you are not going to screw me out of it!" He continued to tighten his grip even as she lost consciousness and slid to the floor. He checked to see if she was still breathing and when he was satisfied that she was dead, he pulled her body to the back of the room and covered it with boxes. He grabbed the files that had been the death of her and after checking the hallway, began moving quickly to his quarters. Once there, he tossed them into a briefcase holding more files and picked up his non – UNCLE communications device. "Higgins here. A slight change in plans; I'm leaving the facility now. I had to make one more kill. That one will be found shortly and lead to my being fingered as a traitor. If you still want these documents, and I think you do, have the ship meet me at the western end of the Ross Ice Shelf in the Ross Sea in five hours. Higgins out."

Illya had been keeping to what had become his routine for the last two and a half weeks; he would check the progress of the UNCLE Asia team, then South America, Africa, and Europe. He would then report to his team to do his part until lunch time and then afterwards, go see Tom Higgins and David Conroy. There were so many files, the two men had worked through lunch on a few occasions to keep up with the others. He walked into the room his team had chosen as its staging area to find Charles busily loading dismantled parts onto a wheelbarrow to take to the incinerator. "Hello, Charles."

Doctor Charles Foster smiled at the much shorter man. He had tried to get the reticent Russian to call him "Charlie" like everyone else, but it was no use. The man said he disliked how Americans used intimate, familiar derivatives of names to address people they barely knew. _He thinks it's kind of disrespectful. I thought he wouldn't do it because he was keeping his distance, but he honestly doesn't out of respect! Illya's okay!_ "Hi! What have you and Valerie been up to for the last hour?"

"Valerie? What do you mean? She is not with you?"

"No, she left us to get her notepad, remember? I came down here to get started working and when she didn't show up, I just assumed she was with you. Well, she must be with one of the other teams for some reason. Where else would she be?"

"I have visited the other teams, she was not with them."

Charles shrugged, "Then she must be with Tom and David. I'm heading off to burn this stuff. Be back soon."

Illya watched him leave and then went out the door heading for the area where the files are kept. It was not sitting right with him that Valerie would be somewhere other than her assigned work area. _She knows I have to visit the other teams and I doubt she would leave Charles to work by himself. If there were a problem, she would have called me on her communicator. Something is not right._

It took him a few minutes to get to the area where the files are stored. "Tom? David? Valerie?" He was glad he had not given into the scientists' request that he not wear his gun. The hairs on the back of his neck were standing at attention as he pulled his weapon and began to check the rooms. As he moved farther inside, he saw papers scattered and furniture in disarray as if they had been bumped sharply. _It looks like a struggle happened._

He walked into the next room and saw a body lying crumpled between two file cabinets. "David!" He holstered his gun and pulled the man out to the open. That's when he saw the blood. He turned the man over and saw two entrance wounds to the chest. He turned to get something to staunch the bleeding, but was stopped by a hand on his arm.

"Too late for me. Tom, Tom did this," he gasped. "You have to… _catch_ him!"

"Was Valerie here? Did she go with him?"

"No. He said, _said_ , getting paid…He's got files. I tried to sto…stop him. Meeting someone, Ross Sea, south of here. Stop him, Illya, before it's too la…" He exhaled and didn't inhale.

Illya took a second to close David's eyes and then pulled his communicator. "Open Channel T. Emergency! All science personnel report to the cafeteria immediately. Repeat, immediately! Any support staff in the building, report to the cafeteria now! This is an emergency!"

He ran to the men's dorm and grabbed his outerwear, extra ammunition clips, and a small case and then sped for the cafeteria. He burst through the door and announced, "Doctor David Conroy is dead in the file storage area. Before he died, he told me that Tom Higgins stole weapons files and shot him when he tried to stop him." As the scientists began to react to the news, Illya held up his hand to quiet them. "I have to catch him before he has a chance to hand off the files and escape. I need all of you to search for Valerie."

Denise Fields asked, "What do you mean, 'search for Valerie?'"

"She has not been seen since she left here this morning to retrieve her notepad. I can only assume that Tom has done something to her." He was putting on his boots, snow pants, and extra sweatshirts. "I _have_ to go after Higgins. Can I count on you to find Valerie?"

Charles spoke. "Yes, we'll find her, Illya. Don't worry. We'll tear this place apart if we have to." The others murmured their agreement. "You find that treasonous sonuvabitch!"

The Russian nodded tersely and looked at the three support staff who had remained behind to prepare meals while the others had moved the furniture that wasn't being used to the dock warehouse on the Weddell Sea. "Please tell me there was more than one vehicle outside."

"Yes, there were four," the cook named George answered as he fished a set of keys out of his pocket, "That's to the truck I used to bring food from the dock. It's got three quarters of a tank of gas and four full gas containers in the back. You have enough to get you to where you have to go."

"Good. Charles, the freighter is due to arrive tomorrow afternoon. Finish up here and go to the Waddell Sea warehouse tonight. If I have not returned by the time it is ready to leave, go."

Charles was stunned. "We can't leave you down here! You'll die!"

"If I am not back by tomorrow afternoon, it is because I am already dead. Do not wait for me." Illya took the keys and before he left his companions he said, "Good luck."

There was only one road heading south and he drove as fast as he dared on the icy road. Quickly assembling his communicator one – handedly, he barked into it, "Open Channel D, overseas relay, emergency, scramble."

Almost immediately, Mr. Waverly's voice came through, "What is it, Mr. Kuryakin?"

"We have a traitor, Sir. Tom Higgins has stolen files from storage, murdered Dr. Conroy and is as we speak on his way to rendezvous with whomever he has struck this deal. I am currently in pursuit. I am estimating that he has a half – hour lead on me, but I am certain I will catch him. Valerie Lewis is also missing; I presume she is dead."

"That is rather unfortunate. I don't have to tell you that those files cannot fall into the wrong hands."

"I am aware, Sir. My plan, such as it is, is to intercept Higgins, ascertain who paid him for his services, and then burn the documents. Failing that, I will have no choice but to continue on to the meeting place to find out who he is in cahoots with and report it to you before attempting a direct assault. That action will probably result in my death."

"Quite. Good luck, Mr. Kuryakin. I take it you have told the teams to leave without you if you fail to return?"

"I have, Sir."

"Good. I will apprise Mr. Solo of the change in your mission. Out."

Illya knew better than to ask that Napoleon not be informed. As CEA, it was his job and right to know what his agents were doing. He imagined the Old Man summoning his partner to his office and calmly apprising Napoleon that his partner was on a potential suicide mission. _He will look unaffected on the surface, but I know he will race back to our office so that he can ca…_

His communicator's trill interrupted that thought and he answered, "Yes, Napoleon. I assume you are calling because Mr. Waverly has informed you of what I am doing."

"Illya."

Just the one word, but it held an entire conversation that Illya heard. _Are you crazy? You can't do this! You have to do this. You could die. I love you. I'm afraid for you. I can't get there! I would do anything to be there. I love you. You could_ die! "Napoleon, listen to me," he said, "If I do not come home, look inside Sergei's back. I wrote you a letter and placed it there. It, it says everything I cannot say now. But you are to open Sergei only in the event of my death. Do you understand?"

After a moment's silence, Napoleon was able to choke out, "I understand. I understand that I am beginning to love that bear and it would be destroyed if I ripped it open, so you better make sure I don't have to do it."

"I will do my best, _moy lyubov._ Kuryakin out."


	7. Chapter 7

_Present Day_

The knock at my door interrupted a fabulous dream about the Dallas Cowboy cheerleaders and my rescuing them from a cave. They were all so happy they had spontaneously thrown off their clothes and were about to engage in sweet, sweet sex with me when a steady _tap, tap, tap_ started pulling my focus.

I finally woke up enough to realize there was a man standing by my bed, looking down at me. Squealing like a little girl and holding the bedclothes to my chest is probably not one of my prouder moments, but it sure took care of my hard on.

"Excuse me for waking you, Mr. Dawson," Illya Kuryakin said as I turned on my bedside lamp. "We need to get moving. Time is of the essence."

I squinted at my watch. Now I believe in getting an early start, but this is crazy. "Look, you said first thing in the morning; it's the middle of the night."

"Something has forced my hand. We must move now." He stood there, staring down at me until I nodded.

"Okay, just let me get dressed."

Instantly I was alone. I didn't know how a man his age moved that quickly, but if what he said about being an UNCLE agent was true, it made sense. I climbed out of bed and scratched everything that needed scratching, then headed for the bathroom.

Ten minutes later, I walked into the living room. My gear was stacked by the door and ready for our departure. I'd done that last night. I noted that there was a backpack added to mine. He'd been sitting on the edge of a chair and sprang up as if scared to be caught sitting without permission.

"Where are we going?"

"Out," was all he said. I gathered up the gear and followed him. We drove to Central Park, all but abandoned at this time of the night. We drove slowly until he seemed to see something. He parked the car and climbed out.

"Stay here."

He vanished into the bushes and I had this insane image of him taking a leak in there. Did UNCLE agents even bother with bodily functions? From what I heard tell, it could go either way. Within a few minutes, Kuryakin returned and opened the car door. He waited until I'd picked up my backpack and a long coil of rope and smiled apologetically as he held up a blindfold.

"What is that?"

"A necessary evil. This entrance must stay hidden. I cannot risk you coming back here."

"What makes you think I'd want to?"

"It is a risk I cannot take."

I remembered the look of hopelessness in his eyes and remembered the chunk of bills he'd given me in good faith. "I die taking a fall from this and I'm going to haunt you."

There was that ghost of a smile again. "I can live with that."

It's a little scary to turn control over to someone and put your faith in them. He was a good guide, never failing to warn me about a step up or down. Eventually we stopped and the blindfold came off. It took my eyes a minute to adjust and then I just gasped. We were inside a cave and I almost moaned in delight. Could you believe it? It was a frigging cave in the middle of Central Park.

"This is incred.. no, stupen… no, that's not right, either. Oh, my God."

"Now you see why I blindfolded you." Kuryakin strapped a light on over his overly long blond hair. "I knew the temptation would be great and this would assure your compliance."

He waited until I'd recovered my composure and then offered me a head lamp. "So where to?" I asked as I put it on. The light bounced off the walls as I assessed our position.

"That is where you come in. This is as far as I know, except that it's approximately a mile." He pointed. "That way."

"And an old man would navigate this every morning and night?" I kicked a small rock from my path. "He must have been something else."

"He mostly certainly was, but I suspect he wasn't much older than I am now. It hasn't been used in many years. It was probably in better condition back then."

"One would hope." I started walking, following my instincts, which were usually pretty good in these cases. After five minutes, I knew why he wanted me. The going was tough and we slipped, tripped, and stumbled our way along.

We walked for about thirty minutes and something caught my eye. It was a slight variation in color and structure. It wasn't much, but I pointed it out. "There seems to be something over there."

He nodded seriously. "This would be about right if my calculations are correct. Good spotting. I would have most certainly missed it."

We moved towards what proved to be almost a path carved out from the side of the rock face. I tried to imagine an older man navigating this. It must have taken sheer nerves of steel, but then and again, we are talking about a man who, with a handful of others like him, ran a secret organization. He had to be something else, especially to inspire such loyalty even after all these years.

Kuryakin, who'd been following me now took the lead, slowly moving up the narrow strip of worn rock. It was a sheer drop on one side and a rock face to our backs. I felt a little like a mountain goat. We continued this way for a few minutes until we came to a small flat spot. Kuryakin stopped and stared at the rock. He began running fingers over the rock surface, looking for what I didn't know.

"There you are," he murmured and pushed. Thankfully, I'm not easily startled or I'd have gone off the edge of the path and straight down a few hundred feet as a portion of the rock wall moved, swinging open enough for a man to slip through. Kuryakin looked at me. "If you prefer to stay here-" he started, but I cut him off.

"And miss the chance to see something no one knows exists."

"Or can know."

"Agreed. Or can know. I'm right behind you, boss."

We walked through a short corridor, strangely clear of debris and stopped at what seemed to be a dead end. Kuryakin took off his backpack and pulled out a small crowbar. He hooked the straight edge into a barely perceivable crack and glanced in my direction.

"I will need your help with this. I'm not the man I once was." I watched his arms work the crowbar and said a quiet prayer of thanksgiving. My manliness was already shivering in the shadow Kuryakin cast.

Between the two of us, we got the panel pushed back enough for us the get through. I thought it would snap back into place, but it didn't.

We entered into a room and I was startled to see weak light trickling through a window. Why no one had peered into it and come in was beyond me. The room was long. From where we entered, there was banks of machines, I supposed cutting edge in their day, but lumbering dinosaurs now. There was a console with a microphone dangling from the its stand, as someone had pulled it out as if to speak into it and suddenly dropped it.

Papers covered the floors and in the center of the room was a large round table. There was a half globe covering the center of it. I glanced over at Kuryakin and I can't describe the look on his face – one of great sadness and longing, mixed with pride. He walked over and set up a chair at the table, which he sat in. He gave the table a spin. I was surprised it moved as easily as it did.

Kuryakin ran his hand over the dusty surface and sighed heavily, then looked over at me. "Welcome to UNCLE HQ."


	8. Chapter 8

_1967_

Illya didn't know how long he had been driving. His concentration had narrowed down to the road in front of him. When it was fairly level and straight, he would accelerate as much as he dared and when it became curvy or went downhill, he would downshift and take his foot off the gas. He knew that hitting the brakes in these conditions could cause him to lose control and he couldn't take that chance.

The road, the surroundings, everything, even the skies were white. Everytime he came around a curve, he hoped he would see Higgins' vehicle. A rumble from his stomach reminded him that he had taken off before lunch had been served. The stoic Russian pushed away all thoughts of hunger, thirst _(Napoleon)_ , and anything else that would distract him from his mission. _I have to catch up to him. It's my only chance to survive._

When he came around another bend in the road and saw a dark shape off in the distance he thought he was seeing things. It had been there and then it was gone. It took him a few seconds to realize it had gone around another curve. He pushed down his desire to speed up knowing that it would be his undoing and just kept heading down the road. When he finally arrived at the spot where he had seen the truck, he came around the curve and saw it again and this time, it looked to be closer. He was gaining.

 _Higgins must have seen me!,_ he thought, _Maybe he will panic and make a mistake._ He estimated that he had been driving for three hours. The map he had studied put the Ross Sea five hours away from the warehouse. He had to do something and soon. He looked at the landscape ahead of him and thought he saw something that would work in his favor. The road was ascending; he knew it would have to descend to get to sea level. _Maybe this is the chance I need!_

Another half hour brought him to the crest of a hill. Looking ahead and below, he could see Higgins' truck on its way to the coast. He figured it to be between half to three quarters of a mile ahead of him. He leapt out of his truck and flattened out on his stomach and aimed through his scope on his Walther. It would have been easier if he had the attachments to convert his pistol to a rifle instead of just the silencer, but he was one of the best shots in Section II, period. He tracked the vehicle and when he finally squeezed the trigger to shoot out a tire, he was rewarded with the sight of the truck careening out of control into a ditch.

Wasting no time, he got back into his truck and hurried to intercept. Twenty minutes later, he hopped out of his truck and cautiously approached the vehicle lying on its side next to the road. Tom Higgins was lying stunned against the driver's side door. Illya climbed up on the passenger side of the vehicle, opened the door and dropped into the cab. He pulled out the case he had picked up before he left the base and opened it revealing a hypodermic needle and two vials of a clear liquid. He checked for a pulse and was relieved to find one present. He filled the hypo with the liquid, pressed down on the plunger to get rid of any air and injected it into the man's arm. "Wake up, Higgins! Wake up!" he commanded as he slapped the man's face.

"Wha…What's going on?" Higgins slurred, "I feel funny."

"I have injected you with a truth serum. Tell me: Who paid you to betray UNCLE?"

"Anton Nureyev."

Illya was shocked. "The Russian Ambassador to the UN? Why?"

"Not completely sure. I know he was pissed with the way the UN meeting went. He thought if he could bring the Premier the plans for building some of the weapons UNCLE had squirreled away, he would be a hero of Mother Russia."

"Is he on the ship that is supposed to meet you?"

"No, just some KGB operatives. Am I dying?"

"Probably, but not from these injuries. How you die remains to be seen." The Russian looked around the cab and found the briefcase Tom had put the files into. He popped it open, saw the contents and asked, "Are these all the files you have with you?"

"Yes."

"What time are you supposed to be at the Ross Sea Dock?"

"No later than five – thirty."

Illya relieved the man of his watch and as he put it on, saw that it was three – twenty seven. "Then I will take my leave of you. I have a feeling that whoever is on that ship will come looking for you if you miss the rendezvous time. One more question: Did you do something to Valerie Lewis?"

"Yes, I strangled her to death and left her in the janitors' closet next to the women's dorm when she tried to sound the alarm that I had stolen files. It's too bad; I liked her."

Illya was about to put a bullet between Higgins' eyes when a movement in his peripheral vision caught his attention. _Chyort! Those must be agents from the ship Higgins is supposed to meet!_ He didn't have time to climb out the way he came, so he kicked out the windshield and crawled out with the briefcase in front of him. They were about a half – mile away and closing fast.

He ran to his truck, got it started and began backing up the road. He had to get as much distance between them and him as he could. He knew they would not believe anything Higgins said to them until they searched the truck thoroughly which would take time. He didn't know if he had been spotted or not, so he reached for his communicator. He searched himself three times before he admitted to himself he had to have dropped it when he got into Higgins' truck.

 _Der'mo! Chyort, chyort, chyort!_ _They will not know I am heading back! And I cannot let Napoleon know I am alright!_ He glanced at his rearview mirror and saw nothing. There was nothing for him to do but to keep driving, hoping against hope that he hadn't been seen. He drove a little farther and a thought occurred to him: _Higgins said he was supposed to be there by five – thirty, but that truck heading this way had to be KGB coming to intercept him. They were double – crossing him! He was never making it to the ship. They did not even want him to see it!_ His brows furrowed as he turned this theory over in his head and tried to think of the ramifications. _I have to assume that he had been in contact with Ambassador Nureyev for some time in order to plan the theft, so it is possible that he told him our plans to leave for the Waddell Sea tomorrow. It is very possible that the KGB, after disposing of Higgins, will head for the base, perhaps to kill the staff and see if we overlooked or did not destroy something that they could bring back to Russia._ Even though it sounded unrealistic, he had known superiors who gave orders that were downright dangerous because of their quest for glory. _Nureyev seems like that sort._ If what he was thinking was correct, it made no difference whether or not he had been seen; they would be coming in any event. He figured he had an, at most, two hour lead over his possible pursuers.

He was in sight of the warehouse and was pleased to see that the other vehicles were gone. _Charles got them out._ He looked at the watch he had taken from Higgins and noted it was after six PM. _For once, I am happy for the midnight sun!_

The first thing he did was head to the Communications room. "Open Channel D, Priority One, scrambled emergency."

"Yes, Mr. Kuryakin. I was wondering how you were faring."

"I have the files Higgins stole, Sir. I injected him with Veritol 19 and he told me that he and USSR UN Ambassador Nureyev had struck a deal. He was being paid a great deal of money so that the Ambassador would look good in front of the Premier. I got the feeling Mr. Brezhnev knew nothing about it."

"That does not surprise me; Ambassador Nureyev seemed quite affronted at that UN meeting last month. I will speak with the Premier myself. Anything else?"

"Yes, apparently Mr. Higgins was double – crossed because KGB agents were coming to waylay him and I assume, steal the documents from him and kill him. I am working under the assumption that they are on their way here now. My plan is to set the bombs that are in the Conventional Weapons section that were for the base's defense. I am estimating I have a two hour lead if the KGB is headed here. The complex will be destroyed."

"Right, Mr. Kuryakin, better safe than sorry. I will inform the freighter to expect you in six or seven hours."

"Thank you, Sir. And if you would…"

"I will apprise Mr. Solo of your current situation and that you will report directly to him once you have reached the freighter. Waverly out."

Illya looked around quickly to confirm what he already knew: There were no portable communicators left. He raced out of the room and headed to the cache of guns, grenades and plastic explosives. He grabbed as much plastic explosives and timers as he could carry and hurriedly placed them around the facility, starting with the storage rooms the teams had worked so hard to empty. He set the timers on the first bombs he placed at two hours with subsequent ones with decreasing times until finally, the last bombs' timers were set to explode in just forty minutes.

He ran back to the cache and filled a knapsack with grenades, a pistol, and tracer ammo clips. He spotted and slung a 30.06 rifle over his shoulder and then retraced his steps, placing grenades near the explosives. He checked his watch and pushed himself to move faster. _The bombs are scheduled to start exploding in less than thirty minutes!_ He placed two grenades just inside the entrance door, ran to the truck to snatch a container of gas from the back and put it in front of the door.

Finally, he got in the truck, started it and began to drive north toward the Waddell Sea. He drove until he was behind a hill out of sight of the warehouse. He killed the engine, grabbed the rifle and flattened out on the hilltop, grateful that his white outerwear hid him from sight. He pulled out a pair of binoculars and looked to see if anything was coming up from the south. He thought he could hear engines. After a few minutes, two trucks came into view briefly and then disappeared behind the warehouse. _The main security system is turned off, it should take them no time to pick the lock and enter._

He waited patiently, knowing they were moving deeper into the facility. He had not had enough time to hide everything as well as he could, but the explosives and grenades were not in plain sight, either. _They are looking for people, Higgins told them the teams were leaving tomorrow._

He aimed the rifle at the gasoline tank and pulled the trigger. The tracer bullet sparked an explosion that triggered the grenades behind the front door. Seconds later, the first of the timed plastics exploded which set off the grenades next to it. Then the cascade of explosions began in earnest and he knew anyone inside was either dead or close to it.

He scurried down the hill to his truck. He unscrewed the gas cap and sloppily filled up the tank, blaming his shaking hands on the cold. He tossed the empty aside, replaced the cap and began the long drive back to the freighter. For the next hour, he kept checking his rearview mirror. After that, he felt confident that if anyone survived, they would be heading back to their own ship.

Sixteen hours after he had driven south to pursue Tom Higgins, Illya pulled up in front of the dockside warehouse. Exhausted, he cut off the engine and climbed down. Immediately, the front door opened and Charles Foster ran out to meet him and help him inside. He was shocked when Charles helped him off with his anorak and wrapped him in a big bear hug while the other scientists all jostled around him patting his back and cheering.

"Illya, you're back! You're okay!" Charles shouted joyously.

Embarrassed by all the fuss, the Russian gently extricated himself from the taller man's grasp. "I am fine. I am fine." He almost stumbled as Charles draped an arm around his shoulders. "Where is the ship's captain?"

"He and his crew have been asleep for the last six hours."

"Good. Do me a favor, please. Go wake him and tell him we need to leave as soon as possible and that he will be getting confirmation of that from Number One South America."

"Sure thing, Illya. Anything else?"

"Yes, I need a communicator." He was immediately handed one. "Thank you." He looked around quickly as Charles went to wake the captain. "Is there an office I can use?"

George spoke up, "Yep. Use that one right there. Have you eaten?" When he shook his head, George said, "Come to the cafeteria when you finish and I'll have food for you."

He sat in a surprisingly comfortable chair after closing the office door. "Open Channel D, overseas relay, scramble."

"Mr. Kuryakin! I see you made it back to your companions safely. What have you to report?"

"The facility is destroyed, Sir. On the off chance there are more KGB headed this way, could you have Number One South America inform the ship's captain that we need to set said sooner rather than later?"

"I will do that. By the way, Mr. Kuryakin, please contact Mr. Solo. He has been checking with Miss Rogers every half hour to see if you have checked in and since it is almost two AM here, she has become rather annoyed."

"I will, Sir. I will see you in a few days."


	9. Chapter 9

_Present Day_

For a long time, we just sat there at the round table. Outside the day went from daybreak white to a yellow haze. Nothing moved in the room, not even the dust motes. I could see that there was a lot going on even though nothing had been said or done. It was all there on Kuryakin's face.

Finally I couldn't bear the silence for one more second. "This is where it all started, didn't it?

Conflict played on Kuryakin's face. You could tell he wanted to talk, but after so many years of silence, he didn't even know where to begin. "One would argue that the start was elsewhere, be it a coup, an insurrection or the whispers of a deadly plot of world domination. It always ended here."

"World domination? You are serious?"

"Deadly so. The misguided schemes and inventions of men and women, if only they'd worked with us, so much could have been accomplished. So much good could have been done, but greed is a tempting mistress. She made the weak minded her willing slaves." He spun the table. "This is where we would be given our assignments and frequently where we were debriefed after the affair."

"Affair? You had affairs?"

"It sounds silly now, but yes. Each mission was given a codename, sometimes obvious, other times, we could only ponder the meaning."

"So this would be The Break in Affair." He smiled at that.

"Or possibly The Subversive Cloak in the Night Affair."

"I like mine better." He laughed, short and sharp. "Tell me about him? The man whose office this is… was. The man who inspired such loyalty in you. Please?"

Kuryakin nodded, as if he only half heard me. "Alexander Waverly was one of a kind. He had the foresight to know that something needed to be done to keep tyrants in place. With a handful of men, he formed UNCLE. It came to be represented by every country in the world, respected by the good, feared by the wrongdoers."

"Then what happened?"

There was nothing for a long time and I thought maybe I'd pushed too hard, then he murmured, "I don't know."

He suddenly stood then and walked to the console we passed on the way in. He stood there, stock still, a million miles away.

The room was light enough for me to explore without the head light, so I got up and did just that. There was an alcove, a dusty and uncomfortable looking couch, two matching chairs and a bar set up. There was still liquid in the bottles, but I wasn't going to chance a taste. I could see little tracks in the dust. Nature had started to inhabit what man had cast aside and I wasn't anxious for a taste of Scotch with a splash of Hantavirus.

Something caught my eye in the scattered papers on the floor. I squatted to pick up a picture frame, the glass shattered. I turned it over and slid the back off, then removed the photo to examine it. The glass fell to the floor. It was of two men, a red cloud of something behind them. Both of them wore dark suits and yellow triangles on their lapels. The dark-haired one was a mystery, but the blond…

I looked up and Kuryakin was standing there. How he'd crossed the room without my hearing him was remarkable. There was no doubting he was the second man in the photo. "That's you."

He nodded. "That was a hundred years ago," he said when I held the photo up. "We were staging an in-house raid for the junior agents and someone took that. Mr. Waverly took a liking to it, so we gave him a copy."

"Your partner?"

Kuryakin actually smiled then. "Napoleon Solo. Who would believe such a name? Neither of us wanted a partner, but Mr. Waverly could see potential things that no one could. Individually we were good. Together…" He smiled again. "Together they called us the Dynamic Duo or Waverly's Golden Boys."

I could see the glint of the devil in Solo's eyes and a look of adoration on Kuryakin's face. It suddenly occurred to me that some might see them as more than partners. "And probably worse."

"Much worse, but we didn't care. We were young and fearless. We would do whatever it took to carry out his wishes. Napoleon was tagged to be his successor, you know."

I didn't, but what difference did it make. "So, what happened?"

"To this day, I do not know. I think it started with trouble in the South Pole. One of our agents went rogue and started playing for the other side. We lost a good agent to his handiwork. The Soviet Union had a group working internally against the Government. Not even the KGB had a clue about their existence and that doesn't happen. They didn't agree with Comrade Brezhnev'scooperation with us. They thought it made the USSR weak." He smiled sadly and then I realized something.

"You're Russian, aren't you?"

"Yes, working here by cooperation of my government. One day **,** it was business as usual. The next, as they say, everything went to hell in a handbasket. I was declared an enemy of the state and told to never return. The UN pulled some strings and suddenly we had a week to destroy what had taken decades to create. Mr. Waverly wanted nothing to fall into enemy hands and we made sure of it. When we finished, there was nothing left. They could make us close up shop, pour concrete into the entrance to keep people out, but they couldn't make us talk. Nothing would make us talk."

"But they tried."

"Could you see subpoenaing a Section Two agent? They thought we were law-abiding citizens who would eagerly take the stand and tell the committee anything they wanted to hear." The smile that followed was brutal. "They knew nothing of Section Two agents. We weren't law abiding. Wewere the law."

"But something was left behind wasn't it? Something important."

"It was a time of expeditious industriousness, shall we say? It was inevitable that something was overlooked in the process. I just can't believe it took us this long to realize it. It wasn't until…"

He trailed off then and I had a feeling something very bad had happened to his partner. Maybe his survival depended upon what we were seeking or maybe it was too late and this was penance.

"Then we'd better get cracking."


	10. Chapter 10

_1967_

Napoleon checked his watch again as he walked around his apartment for the umpteenth time. He knew Illya had landed at JFK at nine – thirty PM and had been picked up by a Section III and brought to HQ to meet with Mr. Waverly. It was Thursday and the Russian had been traveling for almost a week. Napoleon had been on pins and needles ever since he had spoken to his partner last week. He knew he was safe and that the Russian was coming home, but he just wanted to see him. It had been just over a month since he had last laid eyes on his beloved.

He had gone to work that day and even put in a couple of extra hours to make the time pass faster. Before he left for the day, he had asked Mr. Waverly for a long weekend off for him and Illya and had gotten the green light. He came home and made sure there would be something for his Russian to eat and vodka in the freezer for him to drink. All he needed was Illya. He checked his watch again. _Midnight. Is the Old Man going to keep you there all_ night?

He almost jumped out of his skin when he heard Illya's key go into the lock. _Finally!_ He walked to the front door just as the blond opened it and stepped through. Smiling shyly, he said, "Honey, I am home!" as he closed the door. Before he could reset the alarms, Napoleon wrapped him in his arms and held him tightly.

"Illya."

Illya heard the unspoken words and returned the hug. "I am here, Napoleon. It is all right. I am here."

Napoleon swayed with the smaller man in his arms silently for a few moments. When he felt like he could speak past the lump in his throat, he asked, "Are you hungry?"

"I just want to take off my clothes and get in our bed."

Napoleon released him and led him by the hand to their bedroom. They undressed silently and slid into the bed from opposite sides. When they met in the middle, Napoleon wrapped his arms around Illya again. "Would you mind terribly, Napoleon…"

"Shhh, it's alright, Partner Mine. I don't want to make love right now, I just want to hold you. I know you're tired."

"Thank you." After a few minutes, Illya said, "I told Mr. Waverly I want to go to Nevada next week for Valerie's funeral. He has agreed to promote her posthumously to Section II based on what Tom Higgins told me about her trying to stop him from stealing files. I talked to her, you know."

"When?"

"During the trip back to South America. I went to where her body was being stored in the hold. I thanked her for her friendship and her discretion about you and me. She was a true friend. And she was, ultimately, a brave and dedicated UNCLE agent."

"We will miss her, Tovarisch." Napoleon continued to cuddle the smaller man. He could feel him relaxing and knew he would be asleep soon. "I have something to tell you. I opened Sergei."

Illya started to sit up, but was stopped by strong arms gripping him. "I told you not to read the letter until I was dead!"

"I didn't, Illya, I swear! I thought about what you told me and I prayed I didn't have to read it. When you called from the ship, I was so relieved, I didn't know what to do. I decided to put my thoughts on paper and after I did, I decided Sergei should be in on it." He reached into the headboard and pulled the little bear out. "See? I very carefully opened him up, took out the letter you wrote, put my name on it, took the letter _I_ wrote and put your name on it and put both of them back inside and sewed him up. Look, good as new." He placed the bear between them. "We have the weekend off. When we go back to the office, I'm taking Sergei with me. I consider him our little good luck charm."

Illya had settled back down on Napoleon's chest. "Do you not think people will talk to see a stuffed animal in our office?"

Napoleon yawned mightily. "I don't care. Now that you're home, I don't need him to share our bed to remind me that you love me. Having him in the office will let me know every day that we share something real. I love you, Illya. I know it, Sergei knows it and I hope you know it. As long as that thing is around me, I will know I am loved. By you. Good night, my love."

"Goodnight, Napoleon, Love of my Life."


	11. Chapter 11

_Present Day_

My muscles were screaming as we pried open yet another door. I wanted to shout at Kuryakin to make up his mind, but he seemed as disoriented as I was by the corridors of doors. They all looked the same to me and him too, I was guessing. That really seemed to bother him and made him mutter to himself, in Russian, I guess. It was some language I didn't know.

The door shifted and then suddenly slipped aside and I caught myself just in time from doing a face plant. Kuryakin's face went from being hopeful to being annoyed.

"How could I have forgotten this was here? Well, at least we found the canteen," he said as he entered and looked around.

"The what?"

"Our cafeteria. It was open twenty four, seven, as they like to say today. They served food from around the world to reflect our makeup of our organization." His expression grew misty or it could just have been condensation or even dust on his glasses. "We spent many hours here, commiserating, recuperating, planning and everything else in between."

I let my flashlight's beam play across the walls. "Except eating. No one can tell me that avocado green and tangerine orange was conducive to good digestion." Kuryakin laughed. He'd seemed to have relaxed once we left Waverly's office. Whatever demons haunted him up there hadn't followed him.

"You said recuperating?"

"Yes, when I think of what we went through in the name of UNCLE, it makes me wonder about our sanity."

"You mean like being shot and stuff?"

"Shot, stabbed, poisoned, brainwashed, tortured, knocked unconscious, you name it, it happened. I don't know how any of us survived. Many didn't. Even afterwards, the damage was done." He picked up a metal napkin holder and turned it over in his hand.

"You mean aches and pains?"

"The standard procedure was to mentally erase much of the information we carried. That made us lesser targets on the outside. It also took away everything we lived for, as well as the ability to defend ourselves. Suicide rates were very high among former Section Two agents."

"But not you?"

"There wasn't time." He dropped the holder and the noise reverberated through the room. "I once thought the worst thing in the world would be to be deprogrammed. Now I know better. Now the ghosts follow me everywhere and every day. To be free of that seems Paradise now."

I purposefully stifled a shiver at that point. I'd been hearing… things, since we'd left that floor. Some I could chalk up to animals, but other noises, whispering, hissing, that sort of thing, were just creepy. Maybe Kuryakin couldn't hear them or was determined to ignore everything. I mean, there's no such thing as ghosts, is there?

I took a deep breath and that garnered me a look from Kuryakin. "What is wrong?"

"Just seeing if I could smell anything."

"I suspect anything edible is long gone." He shifted his pack around and dropped on a table. While he poked around inside it, I continued to explore.

Going behind the food service line, I let the light play on the floor and walls. There was a swinging door and through that was a large industrial kitchen, its stainless steel dull with dust. A metal door caught my eye.

"You must be the freezer," I said and popped open the door. And for the second time that day, I let go with a little girl squeal of terror. An emaciated body tumbling out and landed at my feet… on my feet, actually. I very nearly wet my pants in my haste to get away.

Instantly, Kuryakin was there. "What's wrong? What's happ…? Oh." He saw the body and patted my shoulder. "It looks as if we weren't the first to explore HQ."

"Do you know who he is? Was?" I asked as Kuryakin knelt to examine the body. He grimaced as he struggled to manipulate the body into another position in order to check his pockets. He pulled out a thin wallet. Holding his flashlight close to it, he flipped it open and made a sound.

"THRUSH. They just couldn't let go. They honestly thought we'd leave anything behind of value. The fools." He dropped the card back onto the body and stood. "He must have thought there was something of value in the freezer. He didn't prop open the door and it closed behind him and latched. Or…"

"Or?" I asked. I'd gone to the other end or the kitchen to avoid looking at that wizened corpse. "I don't much like the sound of that."

"THRUSH is not known for its charitable acts." He brushed his hands together, then walked up to me, holding something out.

"What's that?" I took an energy bar from him and felt my stomach lurch.

"I thought you might be hungry." He unwrapped one and bit into it.

"That was then, this is now, AB."

"AB?" he mumbled around his mouthful.

"After Body."

Kuryakin smiled at that and turned. "What we seek is not here." He checked his watch and made a noise. "It is getting late. We must hurry."

I didn't ask about the time constraint. I didn't want to get stuck in here, so if he said hop to it, that's what I'd do.

Another three doors later, he stepped into the room and sighed. "Finally. We have arrived."

I don't know what I was expecting, but it wasn't this. The room was small, crowded by two desks, chairs, a couch and a file cabinet whose drawers and contents were all over the floor. On the wall was the most frightening piece of pop art I'd ever seen.

"Good God," I muttered and heard Kuryakin chuckle.

"Napoleon has many wonderful traits. The ability to pick good art is one he still struggles with."

"How long have the two of you been together?"

"Longer than you have been alive." Kuryakin was pushing his way through stacks of papers around one of the desks, his movements bordering just on frantic. Then he made a strange sound and pulled something out.

I flashed my light and was amazed to see… a teddy bear? It took me a full minute to regain my power of speech. "You dragged me through all of this for a stuffed toy? All this for that?"

"This isn't just a teddy bear. This is Sergei." Almost tenderly, Kuryakin brushed the dust of decades from him. The toy was so small it nearly disappeared in his hands. "It's been a long time, my friend."

"You know I'm going to ask," I said and he nodded.

"He was a gift to Napoleon, given to him upon what would prove to be the last affair. He is a promise kept. However, when the orders came down, there was so much to do that he was lost in our haste. There are a world of memories in here." He gave the toy a squeeze and there was an odd crackling sound, like it was stuffed with paper or something. He smiled at that.

"No one thought it weird that two UNCLE agents would have a teddy bear in their office. I am assuming this was your office?"

"We were licensed to kill. My hands were considered deadly weapons in many countries and I had a habit of making things, including bodies, disappear. Would you want to take that chance with a smart aleck remark?"

"No, I guess not. So you found him. Can we go now?"

"Yes." He tucked the teddy bear into his backpack. "We have nearly fulfilled our mission."

"Nearly?"

"There is one more task after we leave this place."

"Good. The sooner we can get out of here, the better." To be honest, I'd had my fill.

"The noises have unsettled you that much? Excellent." We headed back towards the door. At least they all had stayed open, so we wouldn't be facing that task again.

"You hear them, too?"

He made an indication with his head and led me to yet another floor. There was a glassed-in wall of computers. There were old reel-to-reel machines and I shook my head at their sheer size. My home computer fit on the corner of my desk.

"Believe it or not, this was cutting edge back then." Kuryakin barely slowed, then pointed. "The source of your voices."

This was the hardest door of them all to open, but once accomplished, it revealed a tiny room and a machine, its lights blinking steadily.

"We set that up to keep any casual explorers out. I routed it through the city's power grid. They don't know why there's a slight energy drain on this block, but it's so small, they never bother to check." He reached out and touched a button and I was suddenly aware of complete and total silence. He touched it again and the whispers were back.

"Wow, that's -"

"Ingenious?"

"I was going for devious, but ingenious works."

QQQQ

The trip out wasn't too bad and we made pretty good time. I didn't even hesitate when Kuryakin pulled the blindfold out and when my hand touched the warm metal of a car hood, I nearly cheered. This whole, I grinned to myself, affair had been bizarre.

"Ready to go home?" I asked climbing into the passenger's seat.

"Not quite. I must deliver Sergei first. I will just be a moment."

We drove to one of the many hospitals that we have in the city and Kuryakin parked in a doctor's spot. Whatever you could say about the guy, he had balls.

I climbed out as he did and he looked at me strangely.

"Just part of the package," I said. The truth of the matter was that Kuryakin looked like he needed a friend right then and there and, lacking that, I was the best he had.

He nodded and we walked into the hospital. God how I hated these places. The memories of my various stays weren't pleasant ones. We rode up to the fourth floor, the cardiac wing, and got out.

He walked down the corridor like he knew where he was headed and paused outside a door, just as a doctor was coming out.

"How is he?"

"Resting comfortably. He woke and asked for you. As you instructed, I told him you were looking up an old friend. That seemed to settle him down."

"Thank you, Doctor, for everything."

"Don't be too long. He needs to rest."

Kuryakin looked back at me and gestured me forward. I'd been trying to give him some space, but apparently it wasn't what he wanted.

I got to the door as he was approaching the bed. The old guy in it looked wan.

"Napoleon?" He placed a hand on the man's shoulder.

A hand hooked up to an IV moved to cover Kuryakin's hand with his own. "Partner mine." The head shifted and a there was a smile that I recognized from the photo. So this was Napoleon.

Even as a murmur, I could hear the love in those words and knew my previous guess had been on the money.

"I brought a friend." He dug the teddy bear out of the sack and handed it to Napoleon.

"Sergei!" He hugged the little bear. "Where did you…? You went home? Alone?"

That's when Kuryakin gestured me forward. "No, Mr. Dawson was my guide. He was very helpful and has proven to be an ally. Our secret is safe with him."

"Or you'll track me down like a dog and beat me," I grumbled and Napoleon gave a short laugh, then winced.

"It's good to meet you, Mr. Dawson." He reached out a hand and I shook it carefully. It was warm and strong. "Thank you for keeping my partner safe. Trouble often follows him."

"My pleasure, sir."

"Sir? My god, Illya, when did I become a sir?" This was directed to Kuryakin, who smiled and stroked Napoleon's cheek. It should have felt weird seeing two men like this, but it wasn't. It felt… right, somehow.

"About the time bell bottoms and love beads went out of fashion, I'm afraid."

"So, how was home?"

Kuryakin lifted Napoleon's hand to his lips and kissed it tenderly. "Home is here wherever you are. Surely you know that by now."

"Just checking." The smile was back.

They might have said other stuff, but I eased out of the room at that point. They needed to be alone, to reaffirm the feelings in the moment. I was excess baggage. Never in all my years on the planet had I connected with someone the way those two did.

About a week later, I got an envelope with a sizable check and a handwritten note. _Thank you_ was all it said.

"No, thank you, Mr. Kuryakin. Thank you for keeping us safe. Thanks for your sacrifices and thanks for trusting me." I looked over at the little teddy bear sitting on my desk and smiled. I'd gone the more traditional route and picked a brown one.

"Hey, JD…" Sharon walked in and stopped. Smiling she pointed. "Who's your friend, JD?"

"Sharon, I'd like you to meet Illya." I held him out to her. "Illya, this is my very good friend, Sharon. She's a demon at office managing, but don't leave any M&Ms lying around."

She laughed and shook its little paw. "Hello, Illya. Welcome. I just wanted to remind you that we need to review our insurance policy with Joe tomorrow."

"Okay. Thanks." She turned to leave. "Hey, Sharon?"

"Yes?"

"Are you busy tonight?" It was time for me and my little bear to start making some memories of our own.


End file.
